


Keep Watch

by Marasa



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling, Doubt, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Soft Boys, Tyler is exhausted, Van Days, josh keeps him comfy, rab era, regional at best, safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Like a pipe leaking carbon monoxide, the good vibes are slowly bleeding from them.





	Keep Watch

They don't have money.

Josh never kept any on him. Tyler didn't either. It was Mark and Michael’s responsibility to carry one wallet for the group of them.

But somehow their tour funds are lost at the bottom of a McDonald’s trash can in Wyoming, presumably thrown away after being hidden under burger wrappers on a red, plastic tray.

Josh sits inside the back of the van, leaning against the wall with his legs in front of him, watching through the window as Mark and Michael try to barter with the motel owner, looking as though they're failing miserably at trying to convince her to accept $15 scrounged from the bottom of their backpacks for a single room.

They’re so close, so so close. They can see a plush bed through the window of the bedroom beside them. They try not to look but they can’t help themselves.

Tyler stands outside the open doors of the back of the van, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, head hung down.

He said he needed to walk around, stretch out. His lower back had been bothering him. His neck too. His shoulders. His knees.

The insomnia wasn’t helping.

Frequent nightmares would wake Tyler before he even got the chance to properly rest. Stress would keep him up.

Josh would stir at three am to adjust a blanket around himself just to see the lead singer of their band sitting up against the wall of the car, looking out the window indefinitely.

He hadn't slept in days. He was getting sick.

Tan skin turned pale. The bags under his eyes were bruised and dark. He had no appetite and had barely eaten anything but still had stopped the van twice yesterday just so he could vomit red bull on the side of the highway.

Tyler’s slow, wiping his nose, scratching at the pimples on his cheek. He turns, sees Josh still in the van and slowly shuffles across the pavement over to him.

His thighs hit the edge of the van. Tyler sways forward.

“What's up?” Josh says.

Tyler shrugs. “Tired…”

They both take a quick glance toward the motel room window. Hopeful, somehow still pessimistic.

Like a pipe leaking carbon monoxide, the good vibes are slowly bleeding from them.

“Did you end up sleeping last night?” Josh says.

Tyler pushes gently at the back of the van, body swaying and eyes falling closed as he subtly rocks himself on his feet. “Couldn't.”

He was always working so hard and now sleep was just another chore. His mind was always going. Josh wished he could take it away from him. Maybe he could, if only for a moment.

“Come lay down.” Josh waves him over. “It's gonna be a while, I think.”

Tyler hums.

He crawls into the back of the van on shaky arms and weak knees. He flops down unceremoniously onto his side. His head finds a spot in Josh’s lap.

Tyler sighs shortly, eyes slipping closed and cold tip of his nose only a few inches away from Josh’s belt.

The cold wind blows. Someone beeps loudly as they drive down the street. Tyler flinches minutely from the sound.

In response, Josh pulls the other man’s hood up over his head. It's better when he's hidden away like this.

Safer.

“If they need me, wake me up,” Tyler murmurs. “They'll probably need me to sign or something, so wake me up.”

“Don’t worry about any of that, Tyler,” Josh says. “I have it. Just go to sleep.”

“Heh. If I _can_.” His tongue is getting heavier despite his doubt.

“Try.”

“I’m trying.” Tyler’s eyes are shut, he’s slowly twitching back and forth in Josh’s lap, again, trying to sway his aching body to relieve his constant discomfort. “I’m trying...I’m trying...trying...trying.”

Tyler’s slurring. He can’t seem to open his eyes more than a millimeter. He so close, so so close, but nothing has yet to come of it.

It feels like they're always so close but never close enough in everything they do. This tour, fame, recognition, their relationship with each other.

They can always see what they could be like looking through a dirty window and seeing a pristine bed.

It feels like they're always losing.

Josh brings a hand to rub up and down Tyler’s back. He doesn’t talk about how they never acknowledge these tender touches, doesn't bring up how their legs touch when they're laying down in the back.

He doesn't mention how he thinks about that kiss they shared back in that gas station bathroom just outside of Ohio.

This is enough right now. They don't need words. This touch feels right. Good. Relaxing.

It’s what they need.

The drummer avoids any spots that make Tyler’s face twitch in pain and instead focuses on keeping a rhythmic pace with the path of his hand up and down his spine.

1, 2- from his neck to his lower back.

3, 4- from his hip bone to his thigh.

Tyler melts as Josh repeats his path over and over.

Rubber soles slide across the carpeted floor as Josh brings his knees up. Tyler is pulled closer by default, head laying in the cradle of Josh’s hips, cheek against the other man’s stomach and back of his head supported by his thighs.

Tyler’s lower half is strewn out awkwardly, one leg pulled up, the other stretched out. He presses his right cheek against Josh’s stomach and murmurs meaningless words up at him, each lazy twist of his tongue nothing more than slurred nonsense.

He’s drunk with exhaustion, desperate to sleep and delirious with the inability.

Josh’s hand slips from the back of Tyler’s head to under the hood. His fingers card through semi-greasy strands, fingernails scratching across his scalp.

Tyler’s mumbling gets a little louder. His legs slide against the carpet.

“What?” Josh whispers. He leans down a bit, trying to understand what the other is saying.

“Can...hear...your heart...heartbeat.” Tyler’s finger taps lightly against Josh’s stomach right beside where his cheek is pressed against him.

The small movement is hypnotic enough for him to get lost in it. He taps a few more times, each getting slower and slower until his hand is simply resting on Josh’s torso. His fingers curl atop Josh’s shirt.

“My heartbeat is in my stomach?” Josh teases lightly.

Tyler hums.

“Is that good or bad?”

“‘S good.” Tyler brings his hand from Josh’s stomach so he can wipe his nose, scratch at his acne.

Josh leans over and grabs the blanket not too far from them. He places it atop the other man, making sure to cover his legs.

Tyler smiles deliriously, doesn’t open his eyes. “Aww.”

“What?”

“‘S just...you’re sweet,” Tyler whispers.

He goes quiet again as Josh’s thumb strokes his temple, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose.

Chapped lips part, crooked teeth are barely visible. Josh takes Tyler’s earlobe in between his thumb and index finger and gently massages it in a circular motion.

Tyler releases a faint whimper.

“Sleep,” Josh whispers so softly to him.

He wants the man to forget this stress that haunts them, the doubt. There's no desire to go home when one is asleep, no desire to give in and kill their dreams.

You don't feel failure when you're asleep.

Still, the singer looks as though he's trying to stay awake.

It must be the anxiety, the fear of being vulnerable to the outside world that wants to consume him, vulnerable to his own mind.

But Josh leans down and whispers closely to him with barely a touch of his lips against the shell of his ear, “ _I'm here_ ,” because he needs Tyler to know that he will protect him from every harm that wants to keep him awake and his dreams dead.

Tyler exhales shakily.

“You'll keep watch?” Tyler murmurs.

Tyler doesn't know what he's saying or what he's referring to, what he means, but the question is heavy with a surprising amount of intimacy that makes Josh’s chest swell.

Josh strokes Tyler’s hair under his hood. “I'll keep watch.”

It goes quiet. Tyler stills. Finally, a series of quiet snores escape him.

Mark and Michael walk out of the motel front office, defeated. It fine, though; Tyler finally sleeping is a victory enough.

They’ll sleep in the van tonight. Tyler will sleep through the night, safe, and won't worry about any of the doubt that licks at him every second of the day.

Everything will be still.

And Josh will keep watch.

Always.


End file.
